


We Could be Great

by Esper_Found



Series: We Could be Great, and The Universe Ours [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Needles, Please Kill Me, Tried To Write Fluff, not sure how i did, there's my warning for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 12:26:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17787383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esper_Found/pseuds/Esper_Found
Summary: A bit of soft, that happens years after the pack has finally... mostly gotten their shit together. Or three times it takes for Peter to finally get a clue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starshaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starshaker/gifts).



> Brief mention of needles so be wary if that's not your thing. nothing terrible... except me! I am awful at summaries and this is the first finished fic i have ever done in my life. so if its terrible... just be gentle when telling me i am fragile. lol.

It takes a while for Peter to really notice that Stiles is confrontational to _nearly_ everyone. Scott McCall may finally be the alpha now but Peter suspects Stiles has never in his life bowed to Scott in anything, and he certainly isn’t going to start now. What’s more, Scott doesn’t seem to like arguing with the boy, and more often than not he ends up bowing his head and giving in. Derek and Peter are both immensely grateful for that, because fuck it if Scott McCall doesn’t have the worst fucking ideas.

 

For all that Stiles snarks and moves like a rabbit in a cage, Peter knows he isn’t the only one who has made this weird connection. The way Stiles moves like prey but acts like an alpha... Peter notices they way his nephew both curiously and confusedly tracks Stiles’ movements, like a hound at the racetrack waiting for something to happen. He does it often enough, after all.

 

Stiles will argue with everyone at the loft. Every pack meeting, in fact, especially if he thinks something is incorrect or wrong or in need of correcting. He will even correct Peter sometimes, but still very rarely. Because if anyone in this patchwork group has any brains, it’s Peter. Hell, Stiles will even argue with Lydia. Weirdly enough, though, they both seem to enjoy the back and forth, which Peter can understand. But knows betas like Isaac don’t truly understand the why of it.

 

 

 

____________***_____________

 

 

 

 

It’s just another day, the young group gathered in the loft while Derek keeps straying to the kitchen trying to pretend they all aren’t there. They were gathered in front of the tv Stiles had badgered his nephew into buying; Erica arguing with Lydia over movie choices while Scott hovered behind Isaac trying to figure out what he wanted to watch since he wouldn’t speak up for himself. Honestly, Peter wasn’t really paying attention, choosing the lull in pack discussions to sit at the heavy planning table in the corner and get some actual work done. So, color him unsurprised when yet another argument erupts. Stiles, on his own doing what he does every movie night. Trying to badger the group into watching one of the star wars movies, already having succeeded in getting them to watch the first two after causing most the group to cave. But he supposed they are all rather tired of space adventures, regardless of just how good they might be. Peter could also see how everyone was getting strained. He doesn’t even think he could concentrate with another loud space war going on in the background. So he calls Stiles over and is only marginally surprised when the boy listens without complaint and does as he's told, curiosity outweighing his desire to force the others to sit through his beloved trilogy. S _hut up, Peter, it's a trilogy and nothing else_.

 

The arguing died down as Stiles approached Peter and waited for him to let him know what was going on. He probably assumed it was something to do with the bestiary, if the curiosity sitting bright in his eyes was anything to go by.

 

So, Peter ended up making an executive decision, speaking just as Lydia and Erica decided on some chick flick, halting Stiles from turning around and trying to continue with his argument.

“Stiles,” he repeated, gaining the boy’s undivided attention.

 

Sassy as it might have been, Peter let it go when Stiles turned fully back toward him rolling his eyes. “Peter.”

 

“I was hoping to get more of the Argent’s bestiary translated and entered in with the rest of our own files. I figured you’d rather help with that than sit through whatever Lydia and Erica have managed to bully everyone into watching.”

 

Something like excitement flashed in Stiles’ eyes as he nodded, eagerly grabbing his chair and the copied papers from the USB and lining up the ones he had been working on the previous week before quieting down for the next three hours while they worked in companionable silence. Peter occasionally set his hand on the nape of the boy’s neck when he started to fidget too loudly.

 

From the counter he hears Derek whisper an almost silent thank you but ends up choosing to ignore it.

 

That, Peter supposed, was where it started. But it hadn’t yet made an impression on him until they were at another pack meeting weeks later. Stiles and Scott were arguing about dealing with hunters who had just come to town. Young, inexperienced, and easily handled by law enforcement. Which was where the arguing came up. And, while Peter appreciated the loyalty, he also knew Scott was right in letting the Sheriff and Chris handle it. They were a bunch of hunter kids, misinformed and most likely carrying a lot of unregistered weapons. That, and the fact they would be less likely to instigate with clear signs of authority. Which had all been pointed out. It still didn’t stop Stiles from yelling at Scott about it. He was obviously worried for his last living relative, but by the way his shoulders were set Peter could see he was aware he was in the wrong.

 

Before it could escalate further and either boy said something they would regret later, Peter spoke up.

“Stiles,” He enunciated clearly; softly. Peter had been expecting the agitated boy to whirl on him and start arguing again, but he was surprised when Stiles just let out a long sigh and slumped his shoulders grudgingly, turning to Peter like he knew what he was going to say. Peter, taking this into account, decided on a different approach. Rather than explain what has already been explained, what Stiles already clearly knew, Peter slowly walked over to him and gently rested his hand over his nape. He squeezed lightly and waited for the teen to meet his eyes. When he finally did, Peter just repeated his name again.

“Stiles.”

It was like his strings had been cut as he swayed lightly in the direction of Peter before wiping his hand down his face and standing straight, turning back to Scott as he did so.

 

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled softly. If Peter wasn’t surprised before, he was now, seeing Stiles apologize to Scott.He isn’t looking around but he can easily tell by the tense silence in the room that everyone else is just as surprised. “I know you are just trying to look out for everyone Scott-” Stiles sighed again before going and slumped down onto the couch. “And I also know you’re right, and Chris will be with him and I’m just being... I get it. I just- It’s hard, you know? I mean, it’s my _dad_.” He says it with such emphasis and honesty by now they all get it. This song and dance isn’t anything knew. It’s an argument that has been going on since the good sheriff was made aware of the supernatural.

 

That Stiles had given up so quickly when usually he would rant and worry for upwards to an hour, that it had ended in as quickly as 15 minutes with just Peter calling his name… was not an act lost on him, or Derek, if the way he was being eyed so suspiciously were anything to go by. Peter didn’t quite understand it, but he hoped it was a move in a positive direction concerning the teen.

 

It didn’t click in his head how much trust Stiles put into Peter until a day later.

 

 

They didn’t even have a moment of reprieve. Once one problem was solved, another cropped up, this time in the form of pixies. Not even 2 hours earlier, the young hunters had been run out of town, firmly chastised and sent on their way, their respective families notified by both Christopher and the sheriff.

 

Now they stood scattered around Deaton’s clinic with Stiles and Isaac both sat opposite each other on the metal tables, the two having taken the brunt of the attack earlier in the day. The venom from the pixies became more potent with each bite, and while most of the wolves had been bitten a few times, Isaac, who had been the first to step in the nest, was covered. Stiles, who had been following close behind, suffered the same fate. Delirium had begun to set in with Isaac as he swayed on the table, waiting for Deaton to whip up a cure. Stiles sat rigidly, still glaring wary holes into Deaton’s back. The more things Deaton put into the tincture, the more wary Stiles became, as the emissary seemed to ignore every question Stiles had about what he was making. Luckily, Peter could see every single substance that went into it from his place leaning against the wall near the doctor, and noted that nothing harmful, or with the potential to be harmful, had been put in.

 

After several long minutes, Deaton finally turned around. He had the pixie venom detox in a syringe, causing Stiles to immediately recoil. Despite this, the boy immediately stepped in front of Isaac just as Deaton was reaching for the young werewolf's arm and narrowed his eyes at the doctor.Peter could tell that Deaton wanted to roll his eyes in exasperation, but refrained while asking “What, Stiles?”

 

To which the boy replied, while eyeing the cure distrustfully, “Will this hurt him?” Which seemed to surprise the others, mostly out of indigence on the Vet’s behalf, but Peter understood fully the distrust Stiles directed at the man.

 

Visibly annoyed, Deaton answered, “No, Stiles, this is a perfectly safe mix that I have prepared myself, it will not harm you, or Mr. Lahey, here.”

 

With the verbal confirmation, Stiles didn’t relax like Peter thought he would, instead he rose to his full height despite being so grievously wounded by the pixies, and stared the Doc down. “I wasn’t asking you,” He replied, and slid his gaze to Peter, canting his head in silent question.

 

Peter wondered what emotion he was radiating as he struggled to get his emotions under control as the last piece of a large puzzle started to form together in his head. He would have time to think about it later, after Stiles and Isaac were detoxed and deemed healthy.

 

Nodding once, and ignoring the squall of outrage from Scott, Peter hummed in affirmation. “He wasn’t lying.”

 

At this Stiles’ shoulders grew less tense as he looked into Peter's eyes. Clear and _trusting_. “Maybe not… but is it safe?”

 

It was the eyes that did it, and Peter had to physically restrain himself from reaching out like he wanted to, something that would surely cause unrest in this small crowded room, given their company. He dug his thumb into the soft flesh of his fingers and nodded to the boy once again.

 

“Yes.”

He paused, unconsciously running his tongue over dull human canines. “Yes, I believe it to be safe. I can tell you what he put in it later if you like.” Not a question, but an offer.

 

It was an answer that seemed to quell whatever worries Stiles had had about the cure, and he stepped aside, suddenly leaning heavily on the table he had originally been perched upon. He was finally succumbing to the exhaustion and venom that had been coursing through his system far too long for his liking.

 

Worried, Peter reached out without thinking to steady the boy, much to Scott McCall's silent outrage, who had been approaching to do the same. Absently he wonders when he had gotten within reaching distance, but forgets when Stiles starts to lean more heavily on him, rather than the table he had been grasping.

 

After the detox is administered to Isaac, Deaton produced another syringe for Stiles, causing him to pale further than he had been. “Hey, you know what? Suddenly I’m feeling much better, really. No need for needles doc.” Stiles muttered as he backed up, subtly shuffling behind Peter.

 

Exasperated at the fact he could still move despite his injuries and apparent needle phobia, Peter gently chided the boy. “Stiles, you are literally already covered in tiny holes from the needle teeth of over a dozen _highly_ venomous pixies, one more won’t hurt you, in fact, it will keep you alive.” He cut the acerbic words with the gentleness of his movements, as he tilted Stiles head away from Deaton, absently stroking a growing bruise on his cheek. “Just look away, you won’t even notice it’s happening.” And then he nodded to Deaton to go ahead as Stiles turned away, leaning into the warmth of Peter’s palm.

 

Revelation wasn’t a strong enough word for it, as Peter watched Deaton plunge the needle into the boy’s arm, feeling a strange sort of rage at the Vet for drawing even a drop of blood as he withdrew. So focused on the administering was he, that he didn’t notice his eyes glowing, until Derek, who’s presence he had all but forgotten, placed a calming hand upon his shoulder. “Peter, your eyes.”

 

Sucking in a sharp breath Peter turned his head away, quickly looking down at Stiles who still had his eyes shut, and was slowly curling away from Deaton despite the hold he had on his arm as a cotton ball and tape were placed on the puncture wound. Ironic, since all other, decidedly more serious, wounds had been left alone, minor as they were. He almost wanted to laugh at this boy who faced monsters and self inflicted clumsy injury on the daily, shrinking away from a needle, but remembered those long never-ending days at the hospital, and thought better of it.

 

By the time Deaton had finished, most of the pack had already left with assurances of their packmate’s well-being. Leaving just Derek, Scott, and Peter in the room, Isaac had begun to stir. Hearing the commotion of Scott helping Isaac to a sitting position, Stiles, whose eyes had begun to droop with the impending adrenaline crash, grinned over at the 6 foot cherub. “Hey, there! You’re looking better!” Stiles spoke fondly to the blond.

 

Isaac turned towards Stiles, ignoring Scotts presence entirely, causing the Alpha to pout. Peter wanted to roll his eyes but refrained with will power alone… somehow. “I am.”

 

Still mostly out of it, Isaac looked Stiles over and frowned, “You aren’t, though.” He mumbled guiltily. After all, he had been the one to disturb the pixies in the first place.

 

Rolling his eyes, Stiles grinned ruefully. “If you hadn’t been in front, it would have been me directly stepping in it, and without that super healing, I would have been much worse off.” He shuffled out of Peter’s space and over to the beta, patting him on the back. “Really, you did me a favor,” He joked.

 

As soon as Stiles had left his proximity he felt oddly bereft, and had to quash down the desire to pull the boy back into his arms. His agitation didn’t go unnoticed by his nephew, who had been eyeing him strangely since he had lost control of his eyes. Maybe even before then, Peter isn’t sure, having mostly been focused on Stiles.

 

From his corner, Derek gives Peter an indecipherable look, and then goes to Isaac’s side. “Alright, since you’re healing, and its after closing, let’s get out of Deaton’s way.” He motioned for Scott who was holding Issac up to follow him out.

 

At the door, Scott turned back, warily eyeing Peter. “You coming with us?” He asked hopefully, puppy dog eyes in full play.

 

Snorting inelegantly Stiles shook his head shuffling back to peters side, much to his surprise. “Nah, I drove here remember?” Seeing the apprehension on Scott’s face, He rolled his eyes. “It’s fine Scott, Peter knows how to drive a stick shift.” stiles laughed willfully ignoring that that was not what Scott was wary about.

 

A strange silent conversation took place between them before Scott relented under Stiles’ gaze, and Isaacs tired tugging. “Alright, alright, text me when you get home.”

 

“Yes _mom_.” Stiles sighed as he turned to Peter His hand already tugging his keys from his pocket to place in Peters upturned palm.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2!..... that's all i got.

 

 

The drive was mostly uneventful, Peter doing his best to drive carefully, as Stiles leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the jeep window. Suffering from fatigue and the remnants of the pixies poison still working its way out of his system. Having spent much of the day in Deaton’s Clinique, the sun was already down, and though it was still a weak from the full moon, Peter could feel his bones itch with the desire to shift. Not a painful feeling, but distracting nonetheless. He supposed much of it was due to his passenger as the boy shifted lower in his seat.

 

Arriving at the Stilinski house, Peter noted that the sheriff didn’t seem to be home and turned off the Jeep walking around to the passenger side to help Stiles, who looked to be nearly asleep. “Come on, you can sleep once we are inside, nearly there now.” All he got was a soft mumble, nearly having to heft Stiles full body weight from the car to the house as He listed heavily into the werewolf’s side. Getting Stiles to his bedroomwas much the same stopping by the kitchen for a glass of water that was all but demanded.

 

 

 

___________***___________

 

 

 

Stiles' bedroom was much like Stiles himself. Messily organized, with bits of brilliance interspaced between. A bulletin board covered in the packs past escapades littering its borders, with new threats and potential threats in the center. Peter absently ran his finger across the news articles from the last four years and marveled at how far the pack had come, not without its hardships. Scott McCall and Derek having to set their differences aside and work together, had been difficult, smoothed only by Stiles and Lydia in their stubbornness to reduce potential casualties that would have arose had they continued to butt-heads. Stiles ability to guilt both the alphas into cooperation had been nothing short of brilliant, Followed closely by Lydia’s ability to force all the betas into some form of educated teamwork, as well as somehow talking Peter himself into rebuilding the Hale house… on his dime no less. Saying it was the literal least he could do for his Nephew.

 

Having sufficiently distracted himself from Stiles changing behind him, He turned back around when he heard Stiles sit on the bed. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out as Stiles moved to sit against the headboard, tilting his head back to lean against the wall in an unconscious, accidental display of his long, pale neck. Peter’s fingers lightly trailed down the boys jugular, but instead of flinching back at the unexpected contact, Stiles just hummed and opened up his eyes to look up at Peter, causing him to think maybe the display hadn’t been as unintended as He first thought.

 

Stiles’ words in the silence sounded like a gunshot to Peter’s ears. “Ask me.”

 

Confused, Peter moved to pull his hand back, only stopping when Stiles made a noise of discontent and then motioned for Peter to take a seat. Sitting on the edge of the bed by Stiles’ thighs, Peter sighed quietly when Stiles’ leg made contact with his back. “What is it you are expecting me to ask?”

 

Laughing softly, Stiles shifted forward so he was leaning his head against Peters shoulder, causing him to freeze up and nearly stop breathing. Stiles laughed again and dug his forehead softly into the meat of the older man’s shoulder. “Honestly, Peter? No idea, but you’ve been weird since the clinique, and you have your thinking face on. The one you make when you discover or think of something that should have occurred to you sooner but didn’t.”

 

Finally relaxing into Stiles, Peter huffed. “That’s a really specific observation.”

 

Stiles laughed. “It’s a really specific face.”

 

Gathering his thoughts, Peter turned to face Stiles, his eyes catching on the now terrible bruise blossoming across the boy’s cheek.

 

 

Without thinking, Peter’s thumb grazed the bruises across Stiles’ cheek, siphoning some of the pain. There’s more of it than Peter was expecting, and he fantasizes of all the ways he could rip into those awful little pixies. Lightly cradling Stiles’ jaw, Peter tilted his chin up towards the light to get a better look as Stiles breathed roughly through his nose, teeth grinding from the force of his clenched jaw. A move that most would perceive as anger, but Peter can smell the salt of unshed tears, and knows that he is just trying not to cry. For what reason, Peter is unsure. But he lightly runs his thumb across the high arch of the boy’s cheekbone just below the bruise in comfort.

 

If Peter were a better man, if he had not been born into this wretched world more beast than man, Peter might let go of this vulnerable boy and step away. But Peter is not a better man, can’t even jokingly claim to be a good one, and so he gently cups Stiles’ face between his hands, rubbing his thumbs soothingly across delicate, bruised cheekbone, sending a thrill down his spine at the thought of leaving his scent behind. He draws more pain from him, slowly sending him into a sort of pain drain haze, his whisky eyes glazing over. Neither make a move to break the silence, and for once Stiles is almost completely still, save for the quiet flutter of his eyelashes as he struggles to keep hold of his senses. He still makes no move to pull away from Peter’s hands.

 

At last Peter breaks the silence, causing Stiles’ honey warm eyes to flutter open. Peter can’t shake the awe from his voice. “You... trust me.”

 

Without speaking, Stiles nods, humming into Peter’s palm as he once again closes his eyes.

 

The admission, is… nothing short of earth shattering for Peter, even as the boy seems to drift off from fatigue. There are so many questions of the how, why, and when running through his head. But none of it gets asked as Peter decides to let him sleep, gently laying the boy in a more comfortable position. As Stiles gets comfortable under the covers falling deeper into sleep, Peter runs his fingers through the boy’s hair, brushing the locks from his forehead and leaving his scent behind. There would be plenty of time later to ask his questions, maybe tomorrow over a cup of coffee at that place Stiles likes across from the diner on 5th.

 

Opening the window next to the bed, Peter leaned to climb out, but stopped at the last minute to take one last quick glance at the boy.

 _Plenty of time_ , Peter thought, _It’s a date_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! it's done!.... *hyperventilates* i did my best!... I'm not used to completing stories this is a first... maybe even a last.... i really hope it wasn't disappointing.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if this was terrible. i really tried you know? also put it as part of a series because this fic is peter centric, and i would like to write another from stiles perspective. maybe leading up to this fic.


End file.
